


what the sea gives (it can take away)

by NaomiGnome



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not Beta Read, Not So Much a Fix-It as An Ideal Epilogue?, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/pseuds/NaomiGnome
Summary: It's been years, but she's sitting on his window sill as casually as the day she walked into the forge.





	what the sea gives (it can take away)

“ You know, for the Lord of Storm’s End, you’ve got terrible security.” 

She’s there perched up on the window sill of his solar, her stance as casual as he remembered. She’s taking him in with her eyes, still grey and serious with mischief highlighted where the light of the sunset hits her irises. Her complexion is darker, a spattering of freckles across her nose, the sun’s mark on her after days and days at sea. Her lips are still thin, and they’re quirked upwards in the smirk he was aghast to realize still sent a shiver of want through his body. 

“Even if I had, the best security in Westeros, I doubt they would be able to stop you.” he replies in a voice significantly hoarser than dignified. 

She only smirks wider in response, and Gendry can only swallow. The air in the solar feels thick, and he is afraid to move, as if she were an apparition that would disappear the moment he reached out to her. 

She breaks the ice first. 

“How are you m’lord?” She says teasingly. How the tables had turned. 

“I’m not a lord,” and flinches, because even after years of being legitimized, he still doesn’t quite believe it. He stumbles over his next words, “I mean, I’m still getting used to it all. It doesn’t feel quite real, but if Davos can be Master of Ships, I can be a Lord, well can’t I?” 

Arya doesn’t say anything but raise an eyebrow at his ramble, “Lords do have a bit of responsibility, managing the people, keeping the realm safe, making heirs…” she trailed off, and Gendry felt that her reply had ended in question. 

“Hard to make heirs with no lady...m’lady,”

Arya’s eyes widened lightly, and Gendry was sure that if he wasn’t watching her face so intently, he would not have noticed. She hopped off the sill and stepped toward him slowly, and it occurs to him that she is afraid that he will disappear as well. 

He still hasn’t moved and she closes the distance between them to breath’s width. She stares at him with those grey eyes, and where everything before had seemed so fast, this was excruciatingly slow. Gendry doesn’t realize that he was no longer breathing properly, 

He croaks out, “No ladies, no whores, no one. Not since you.” 

Suddenly he’s back in the forge before The Long Night, and he whispers the name he had all but suppressed to the back of his mind since he had last seen her in the Dragon Pit.  
“Arya, I…” 

She flies up at him. Finding his lips easily, even after all these years. There aren’t anymore words. In the midst of it all his hands find her face, find her body, find the ties of her clothes. Her hands had always been faster than his, and she makes quick work of his own tunic. 

They only pull away once. Naked and panting and staring at each others faces. It’s a different desperation from the eve of The Long Night, but it’s sure. They connect again, first their lips and then their bodies. There aren’t anymore words, just the sighs and quiet moans for only their ears, to fill the small remaining spaces between them.

*

She’s gone when he wakes up. Where they had lain, a chaise against the wall feeling cold. He wonders briefly if it had been a dream and then reasons he wouldn’t be naked in his solar at dawn if it were. 

“M’lord!” a voice calls from outside his door, and Gendry hastily dresses. 

He clears his throat, “Enter!”

A page boy, he is still bad with names, enters with Ser Davos in tow. He announces him, “Ser Davos, Master of Ships!”

“I am right here, you don’t need to announce me.” 

The page boy bows clumsily and leaves. 

“What,” Gendry still gathering his wits, “What can I owe the pleasure?” 

“We have a scheduled meeting, to talk about the ships that have docked and sailed since the last fortnight.”

“Right! Right!” He stumbled over to his desk, shuffling through the parchment for the report. 

He glances over it before handing it off, the last entry in handwriting he didn’t recognize from his ship master. 

_The Nymeria--intended time at port- unknown- I’ve had to tend to some things on my ship, you should expect me at supper...m’lord._

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I feel their story would end (or begin again?). That she'll never be a lady, but Gendry would never love anyone else like her.


End file.
